


In the Vale of Beasts and Men

by Blue_Jaye_Fevre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aconite, Additional relationships will be shown, Beacon Hills, But not now because spoilers, Castles, Class System, Druidism, Emissaries, Fantasy Vale Kingdom, Feudal System, Forced Servitude, Line of Succession, Lunar Cycles, Lycans, M/M, Magic, Medieval AU, Mountain Ash, Pack Dynamics, Penal Colonies, Slash, Slavery, Sword & Sandals, The Argents run a fantasy kingdom, The Hales are either prisoners or slaves, The Nemeton - Freeform, Upstairs/Downstairs drama, Witchcraft, With Victorian elements added in, historical fiction - Freeform, scandals, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Jaye_Fevre/pseuds/Blue_Jaye_Fevre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a great Vale, far west of the realms of men lay the Kingdom of Argenium. Beacon Hills was its' Capital City, and Queen Victoria of the House Argent was its' ruler. The Lycan population of old, once proud beasts of the woods had been shackled and broken, their power sealed behind Groves of Mountain Ash. And the fabled Emissaries, once trusted advisors of the Lycans had deserted their charges in favor of the race of men. Now, in the year 1336, a young nobleman and Emissary in training of the House Stilinski has been gifted with a great task in service of Her Majesty. </p><p>This is his story, of the boy who would break the chains and shatter the Groves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Brief History of Argenium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [74days](https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/gifts).



> This one's for you Robyn. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum ;)

* * *

_From the collected Histories of Argenium, fourth edition by Emissary Tindall_

In the year 671, Ulwick the Cunning lead a band of humans from the eastern reaches of the lands of men and westward towards the uncharted forests, where the only living things were the trees and the beasts. After five years of travel and hardship, Ulwick stumbled across a great river, with waters as bright as stars and as blue as sapphires. And beyond that river lay a great vale that stretched for miles and miles. Miles of fields and an ocean of trees filled the great vale, with streams of ore that trickled through the land, as though they were tears of the earth itself.

Ulwick crossed into the vale with his people prepared to claim the lands for their own. But upon reaching the other side of the bountiful river, they found that their lands were not their own. The vale was inhabited by grotesque creatures that bore the bodies of men, but with hideous faces, covered in fur and fang. Vicious and savage, the beasts attacked Ulwick's people for months before Ulwick sought out a weapon for which to destroy the creatures. Upon discovering by happenstance the toxicity of the plant aconitum towards the creatures, Ulwick began to cultivate the plant for his people. The followers of Ulwick, now armed with poisons, oils and other salves capable of killing the creatures, began to win significant victories against their foes.

By the year 684, the creatures had been pushed back to the westernmost reaches of the vale, driven to endangerment by the humans. Ulwick was praised a hero and lived anther fifty years before dying of wounds sustained during an excursion to the north of the vale.

In the centuries to follow the discovery of the vale, the children of Ulwick grew prosperous and powerful; they established the town of Beacon Hills in the year 923, which grew in size, status and influence as the decades passed. Before the town was founded, the humans of the Vale lived through two further resistances from the creatures. Both were incapacitated early and with ease.

In the year 1074, the City of Beacon Hills had reached a population of over sixty-thousand with fifteen-thousand inhabitants living around the vale in the towns of Whittenden, Brightblooms, Cold Barrow and Stone Quays. It was in this year that the creatures were given name, and that their power was truly known. The leader of the surviving creatures, a magnificent beast who called himself Lykaon, ordered the abduction of hundreds of countrymen and children from around the city of Beacon Hills. Once abducted, the hostages were given the bite and unleashed back within the population centers. Like a plague, the curse spread, infecting thousands upon thousands of humans. The Argent leader at the time, Andros, proved to be too ineffectual to deal with the creatures. His oldest son, Aloysius, took control after Andros was assassinated defending the city from one of Lykaon's skirmishes. Desperate for an answer to his problem, Aloysius prayed to the Gods for salvation and marshaled the surviving humans to wage war against the creatures, named Lycans for their association with Lykaon. Aloysius bravery, tactical prowess, and sheer numbers allowed for the destruction of the majority of the Lycan numbers.

Lykaon, losing every battle and many of his followers by the week, sought the aid of the ancient order of Emissaries, men from the West who served the Lycans for a millennia. The Emissaries agreed to aid Lykaon in eliminating the men who had fought so savagely against the Lycans. But Lykaon had a short memory and a trusting heart, for his massacres of the human race had insulted the proud Emissaries. In retaliation for his abuses of power and his upsetting of the fragile balance of power within the vale, the Emissaries taught the Aloysius the secrets of the Lycans, from their strengths and their weaknesses.

Aloysius, armed with the newfound knowledge of the lunar cycle, Mountain Ash and pack dynamics began to slay the Lycans in staggering numbers. In a last ditch effort to dispel the humans of the vale, Lykaon staged a massive assault on the city of Beacon Hills. Aloysius was there and far prepared to deal with him. It was at this final battle that the Emissaries revealed their treachery and turned the battle from an even fight into a crushing victory. Lykaon's top beta, Lupa attempted to flee with her people as they had in the past, only to find a wall of Mountain Ash miles long standing before the Western reaches of the Vale. Aloysius captured thousands of Lycans and trapped them within cages of Mountain Ash.

Aloysius did not want to merely exterminate the Lycan people, but he wished to make them pay for the deaths of every human they had harmed. In a fit of determined discipline, Aloysius planted two separate groves around the Mountain Ash cages of the post-war internment camp. One was short and held back by a gate of pure silver, coated daily in liquefied Aconite. The second stretched for miles around said camp, where Aconite was allowed to grow in toxic doses between the trees. Aloysius intentionally left behind a large mass of land for which fields could be planted. As a final piece, Aloysius had his Masons construct a gigantic wall between the outer eastern section of the Mountain Ash grove, allowing for entrance to and from the grove for humans, but only entrance for Alpha Lycans. Betas and Omegas could leave, but the great masters of the packs were helpless within the Grove. Aloysius then formed a a whole branch of soldiers dedicated to the warding of captive Lycans and pursuit of fugitive Lycans.

The grove was then christened Lykaon as a reminder to all Lycans of their place in human society, and Aloysius lived for a great seventy years, after which his daughter, Esther took his place as the reigning Monarch of Argenium. Esther was far more shrewd than her father, eschewing the penal system of the Lycans in favor of servitude. Lycans were forced to work the fields within the borders of the grove, and many Lycan children were taken and bred into servants for the upper class of Beacon Hills.

In the year 1293, one such Beta named Talia felt a surge of power, Talia's alpha father had passed away and she received his gift through being his oldest child. Talia kept her power hidden for nearly two decades before she was discovered to be an Alpha. She used her power as one of the few Alphas outside of Lykaon to organize an uprising of betas. The current head of the Argent family, Alexander Argent, deftly crushed Talia's resistance and had her locked away within Lykaon. Talia's children, Derek and Laura were taken from her and kept as hostages within the Argent household. Talia remained stoic and refused to cause trouble if her children went unharmed. That year, 1312, saw the last great rebellion of Lycans within the Kingdom of Argenium.

Externally, a new threat arose in the year 1316, when the vicious Prometheus and a unity of packs invaded the Vale to free their brethren and slay the Argent family. During this war, Alexander Argent and his sons were killed, forcing his niece, Victoria Argent, last scion of the branch of Aloyisus, to take command and oust Prometheus and his followers. Victoria, like her forebear, sought the aid of the Emissaries to defeat the rogue Lycans. The Emissaries agreed, but only under the condition that they be given a proper place within the Kingdom. With the aid of these individuals, Victoria tricked the unknowing Prometheus into two separate traps: In the first, his children and the children of his alphas were given quarter with the Emissary Deaton. In the second, The Emissary Morrell gathered the Alphas for a secret meeting between themselves and her own Order of the Vale. Prometheus' Emissary Bacari warned against the idea, but Prometheus blindly believed in the loyalty of the Emissaries.

At the meeting, Morrell gave the signal and had the alphas slaughtered by dozens of marksmen wielding aconite tipped arrows. Before the meeting occurred, Deaton brought the children within the inner grove, where they transformed into Alphas. The oldest, a young man by the name of Deucalion, swore vengeance upon the house of Argent until his dying breath.

For the next two decades, only minor events marked the history of Argenium, where the rule of the Queen was firm, but just and the land thrived once again unburdened by the inflammation of war. Only now tensions brew beneath the surface, not only in the hearts of wolves, but also within men.

* * *

 

UPDATED: Some changes in this intro that I incorporated as I mapped out the setting of the story.

-Population changes added. Much more reasonable than over 200k worth of individuals

-Argenium is the territory, Beacon Hills is its' capital city.

-Argenium is a Kingdom, its' rulers are Monarchs (As opposed to the Ducal system I had in place)

-Beacon Hills founded in 923 as opposed to 1023, allowing for a more natural population increase.

-town of Stone Quays (pronounced keys) added

-Emissaries originated in the West as opposed to the East.

Slight changes to present a more realistic story alongside a better setup for the story. I am currently working on the first chapter and should have that up once I have more free time on my hands. Until then, enjoy! ;)


	2. Prophecies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! This has been a treat to write so far! :D

The winds were softly blowing across the vast fields of Brightblooms, rustling the ordered rows of Maize and tickling seas of Barley. The midday sun shone down upon the farmers in their fields and the villagers upon the paths alike. To and fro along the worn cobblestone paths leading from the village proper past the fields and farms of the peasantry, around the bend of the river Argenium and towards the unclaimed meadows of the Vale strode the townsfolk. So occupied with their work of carting goods to the local market or rushing to complete the chores before sunset were these smallfolk that they failed to notice the young man in the meadow.

It was an unclaimed meadow, still coated in the ripe grass of the springtime and born by great oaks and apple trees, lone sentinels of an age long gone. Stalks of tall grass coat the meadows in swathes and here and there lay stones and rocks, markers for the travelers to know how far they have wandered.

On one such rock, basking in the sun and absorbing its beams in a slim lad of eight years. Garbed in a worn if fitted Doublet and khaki breeches, the youth is a picture of the careless living that has come to mark the youth of Argenium: Sprawled out amongst the earth’s carpet, arms pillowing his head against a rough-hewn stone, eyes shut to the sun with ears open to the world the youth hides from the responsibilities bestown upon him.

He hates his lessons, the need for learning and scrolls, or musty tomes, text flooded tomes and the hazy burn of the tallow. Except for the illustrations of the Friars and the Emissaries documenting every flower and beast with accuracy unknown to him; never had those drawings displeased him.

If only father had not been busy with efforts in the city, if he were home he would tell him the stories of the fanged monsters and the brave knights and the noble hunters; of great battles and heroes. Instead all that he could do was play in the meadows while mother rested. She had been so sweet to him that morning, promising to join him in the fields that day. Once she felt better-

*a thick flutter of wings*

The youth opens his eyes, mind honed on the sound: Set downfield towards the edge of the meadow, hovering in midair is a massive mint creature of powdered wings and insectoid appearance, darting about the open air with jeweled movements,

The youth decides then, that it would make an excellent addition to his collection. With slight motion he rises, ascending to a crouch and stalking in an arc around the prize.

When it begins to move the youth rises from his crouch and paces towards it, practicing the rhythms his mother taught him.

In a picture of greens and golds, of tawny trees and lightened skies a flash of quartz can be seen amongst the natural hues of the meadow. A slim figure calmly moves about the meadow, his gait both predatory and light. The creature, a massive specimen, flutters about occasionally gliding across the tops of the tall grasses.

The youth moves to the edge of the tall grasses, eyes never leaving the fluttering creature and the sphere beyond it of field and trail. He moves through the grasses and towards the creature, which has moved into a circular clearing and is hovering in the middle. The youth notices the patterns of the grass, a spiral moving towards the center of the clearing, the beauty of the moth.

The moth turns, setting brilliant jade eyes on him. He approaches the creature slowly, as though to not frighten it off. It remains fluttering in place, regarding the boy with multifaceted eyes brighter than the stones of House Whittemore.

The youth reaches a hand out to touch the moth. The breeze picks up, rustling the grass like a sigh from the land itself.

 _Stiles_. A murmur on the lips of the wind.

“Master Genim!” The youth rips his eyes away from the Moth and towards the new voice in the meadow, which sounds like his mother’s lady in waiting Janis.

He turns back to the moth, only it is gone. The grass is merely patched and without higher design, the grasses are still.

“Master Genim!” Janis calls out again, her body rustling through the tall grass as she breaches the clearing. He turns back to her, sorry that he missed the beautiful moth and ready to return home. Janis is pale, her eyes red rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Master Genim, we must return to the house. We must send for your lord father immediately.”

Genim doesn’t reply at first. He doesn’t understand why Janis would be crying and why they would need father to come home from the city and why mother hadn’t joined him in the field-

Until he does understand. And the sun grows a little darker in the sky as he falls prostrate to the ground.

* * *

 

“Stiles! Wake up!”

Stiles flails forward, knocking over a flagon of water and smacking several plates across the communal table from which he had fallen asleep on.

Apprentices Novak and Jurley laugh loudly, while the beleaguered Innkeeper casts an evil eye from the bar area.

Stiles gets his bearings, casting the last vestiges of an old dream from the corners of his mind. Rubbing his eyes, he asks what time it is.

“A few minutes past eleven o’clock. We figured leaving you behind would be a poor thing to do, especially in light of Emissary Deaton’s chastisements of late.” Jurley snorts into his drink, voicing his displeasure in the most intelligent way he could muster.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles notes that he was in his cups prior to surrendering to Orpheus: A half dozen empty drinking glasses lay strewn across the table, victims to a night of post session festivities. That Stiles can even remember that much after the fact is prodigious.

“We need to return to the guild dormitories.”

Jurley snorts again, allowing Stiles to further lower his opinion of his peer.

“Afraid of getting caught? So long as we are up at dawn for morning meditations Deaton won’t even notice.”

Novak shakes his head in disagreement. “Deaton will know we were out, even if he never sees us enter the dormitories and we are brighter than day come morn. We will be cleaning the gutters with the dawn my fellowes.”

The three groan in disappointment and proceed to refill their glasses with wine. It’s a poor vintage, and it definitely has been cut by the Innkeeper with something rank. But the flagons are only a handful of Silver Arrows compared to the more expensive vintages of Whittenden or Lykaon. Lycan grown wine sells for outrageous sums, even if the quality is only above fair.

Stiles knows that the oaken Syrah his father prefers could easily outmatch even the most select cask of Whitten Red, but he also remembers why he has never entered it in the royal tastings. Claudia loved the arbors of Brightblooms, and she never boasted or bragged of their quality. Only that they be enjoyed by all.

“Stiles, regardless of time, we should most likely be heading back to the Guild Quarter. Too much later and we could be picked up by a sweep.” Apprentice Novak whispered at Stiles. Stiles was all too familiar with the Watchmen, the unofficial town guard that swept the city at night for street urchins, criminals and escaped Lycans. More often than not however the sweeps merely arrested any citizens out on main streets later than usual. Arrested was a rather formal word for kidnapping however, and the families of the captured would either have to ransom back their charges or allow them to languish in the smaller Gaols of Beggar’s Row.

Stiles had encountered a rowdy group one night while walking back from a late night errand run for Emissary Tindall from the Market District. The hooligans presumed that he was a drunken friar from the Faith’s Campus who had lost his way. Stiles told them that he was an Emissary in training and that they would have regretted attacking him.

They decided to charge him.

It was a foolish maneuver, for even a fledgling Emissary was still more than a match for a handful of guards-for-hire. Stiles merely blinded them with a spell of light and scurried off along the streets back towards the Guild Quarter. At the time Stiles had been taught only a handful of spells and no Martial training. It would have gone poorly in any other circumstance.

Stiles sighed and rose from his bench, ambling over towards the Innkeeper. After depositing a small pouch of Silver Arrows on the mans’ bar Stiles gathered his friends- _Friend_ , Jurley was nothing more than an upjumped son of a Taskmaster from Whittenden- and exited the Inn of the Triumphant Stag and out onto Beacon Square.

While the Inn was a shambling, monster of patched wood and precarious add ons, the rest of the Square was opulent beyond measure: A massive white marble fountain roared in the center of the Diamond oriented Square, a stream of water issuing from the mouth of the marble Stag positioned triumphantly over the corpse of a massive wolf carved from obsidian, while tiers of engraved marble staged the scenes for every onlooker to observe. To Stiles left was the Armory, a gray brick fort that housed the proper city Guard. To his right was the Northern Street that linked Uptown and the Market District together. It was a well patrolled and lit corridor that led to the River’s Gate and towards the banks of the Argenium.

Stiles and his companions strolled along the worn but maintained tiles of the Square towards the Western street, which led towards the Guild Quarter and the noble houses of Wolfshead Heights. On the Northwest side of the Diamond was the Town Hall and the City Archives. A light in one of the upper rooms led Stiles to believe that Lord Mayor Finstock was still hard at work, even at this time of night.

A chorus of laughter tore Stiles’ eyes away from the Town Hall and to the Southwest side of the Diamond, where the towering Palace of the Silver Sun was situated. Built by the flippant King Alphonse I over a hundred years ago, the Palace was the where the Argent’s held court when they were in the city, however rarely. Most of the time it was used for Masquerades and Great Feasts, for Dances and Parties of the Upper Class of Beacon Hills. With great glass windows and delicate stonework detailing the outside of the palace, Stiles doubted that it would last more than an hour under siege. Yet the opulence, the raw power of the House Argent was on full display in the façade of their palace: Great Iron and Stone fences enclosed the space, while luscious greenery dominated the slim gardens viewable from the front of the palace. The hidden cloisters and groves in the rear of the Palace were verdant and evergreen, even during the vicious winters of Argenium, or so Stiles had heard in whispers.

The loud melodies of orchestras and mummers rang from within the Palace, where a great ball must been taking place. Stiles focused his eyes towards the West end of the city, where The Guild Quarter stood. The Iron Spire of Esther, another Argent holding, loomed tall and oppressing, yet completely inaccessible. The Peasantry gossiped that the Argents wore Magic rings that could allow them to phase through the walls at will. Stiles knew better; Phase magic was practically unheard of in the Vale, although older Emissaries such as Tindall recounted beasts possessed of such abilities found much further west of the vale.

The three Apprentices kept moving onwards, towards the heavily patrolled and grand streets of the Western Ward. The three traveled for a short period along the Western street until they diverged on Guild’s Trail, the street leading into the mammoth Guild Quarter. From the outside the Guild Quarter appeared as a massive six pointed star, at least two hundred feet tall and made of sheer stone. Between the North and Northeast points of the star was a small walled enclosure with a gatehouse, a large stable and a Guardhouse where Novice warriors spent their later years guarding as part of their training.

Novak approached the Gatehouse and called for the Novices to open up. A novice hunter shouted to the gatehouse to open up for the Emissaries. The portcullis rose up and allowed the three Apprentices to enter into the Small Yard and towards the Main gate of the Guild Quarter. A handful of Novices were mulling about the yard and casually bantering with each other. With so Lycan threat in over two decades and the sheer army housed behind the Main Portcullis of the Guild Quarter, few Novices ever took their duties seriously within the Small Yard.

The three Apprentices entered through a stone tunnel that led to the Common Yard, eventually exiting out the corridor and into a massive circular space, the sight of which never ceased to amaze Stiles. Many Peasants believed that the inside of the Guild Quarter was filled with a handful of castles or other forts, when in actuality each point of the star was a solid, triangular castle. Together they more or less formed a hexagonal central yard, with a brick road ringing the Guilds together. Some green space filled the ring between another ancillary brick road, with smaller paths forming perfectly straight passages between the outer and inner roads. At the center of the space was a circular Green with a squat, stone tower in the center. Taking up the majority of the Green space, the tower housed the Guildmaster’s Chambers and the examination entrance rooms for each of the six guilds.

Novak led Jurley and Stiles back towards the Emissaries Guild, the Southwest Point of the Guild Quarter. They passed the Warrior’s Guild of the Northern Point and the Assassin’s Guild of the Northwest Point before arriving at the Ivy-strewn front of the Emissaries’ Guild. As Novak produced a key and led the group inside, Stiles felt a wave of cold pass over him. He whipped around to find the source, locating a robed figure standing at the edge of the Green, facing his direction.

“Will you get in here Stilinski!” Jurley hissed at Stiles.

Stiles turned his head for a moment to hiss back at Jurley. “That’s Lord Stilinski to you Jurley, remember your place!”

When he looked back, the figure had gone, and the braziers along the path had been extinguished. Despite wielding more power than five grown men, Stiles hurried inside the antechamber of the Guild of Emissaries and allowed Novak to lock the door behind him. With quiet resignations, the three apprentices moved back towards their dormitories on the different floors of the Guild.

Stiles opened the door to his small stone room, a single with a thin bed, a small writing desk equipped with inkpot, quill and Eastermarch quality candle- Stiles refused to buy Tallow candles for his studies- adjacent to a thin bookcase, which sat opposite to a dresser. A small woven rug sat the center of his completely stone room, which was small but surprisingly tall in vaulting.

Stiles stripped out of his gray Emissary robes and into a nightshirt and small clothes. Sliding under the thin sheets of his bed, he recounted the arduous sessions with Emissary Kessra, the recurring dream of the Moth signaling his mother’s death, and the mysterious figure of the Green.

Stiles did not believe in Prophecies, but did accept that those in tune with the Magical energies of the world could often be beset upon by images or foretellings that would herald future occurrences.

Stiles did _not_ believe in Prophecies.

Cuddling closer to his pillow, Stiles allowed himself to fall back into sleep, mumbling the well-worn words of Dreamless sleep to himself.

And for that night, Genim Stilinski, son of Sir John Stilinski and Lady Claudia Stilinski; Heir to Orchid House, Brightblooms and its attendant lands; Emissary in Training of the Guild and sworn protector of Argenium did not dream.

But what he did not know was the chain of events he had set off, held in the smallest of his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about being overwhelmed by the details and new settings. I have about 8 MS Paint documents that have the layouts of every district and the city as well as the whole of Argenium, along with two word docs loaded with place names and descriptions, family trees, mottoes and organizations. So just sit back and enjoy the ride ladies and gentlemen! ;)
> 
> (Oh and since this has a massive cast, I will release a Spoiler free dramatis personae once the introductory chapters have kicked off. For now, just treat the characters on a chapter by chapter basis.)
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review/comment/rate! Drop me a line if you have any questions!


	3. Unexpected Sessions

Stiles had sessions in the morning with Emissary Holgrave, who Stiles found to be several shades less severe than the ferocious Kessra he had dealt with the day prior.

Stiles found himself in a room with six other Apprentices: The gaunt son of a fishmonger, Swyft; the Demure and soft spoken daughter of a town guard, Morris; The twin sons of a lesser Banker, Joliet; and of course, Novak and Jurley. Novak yielded no recurrences of the festivities held since Stiles had last seen him, but Jurley seemed to be coping with the spiteful spirit of the morning after.

Not that Holgrave cared one bit: The man may have been less wicked than Kessra, but he was far from forgiving. He stood at the opposite end of the stone lecture hall. Normally several woven rugs would have been laid down for students to meditate upon.

Today there were no rugs to be seen, but three medium sized boxes were situated against the back wall, all covered in heavy tarpaulin. Holgrave moved past one of the boxes and patted his hand on it neatly before turning back to his apprentices.

“You were scheduled to practice meditations this morning, but I had something a bit different in mind. Emissary Kessra has told me of your advancements in spellcraft, to the point where I feel confident in the lessons I am about to instill.”

Every nerve in Stiles body went rigid, a thrum of electricity coursing through his body. Out of the corners of his eyes he caught his classmates acting similarly, standing straighter and trying to fight the irritations of the pull of druidic magic. A heavy thud signaled the slamming of the door behind them. The flames in the wall sconces flickered.

Holgrave walked next to a pulpit affixed on his side of the room, dipped a black feather into the inkpot on the writing side, and began to mark the names of the apprentices present. As he wrote, he spoke. “You will work in pairs for today, with Swyft and Morris, the Joliet boys, and Jurley and the _Lord_ Stilinski working as the final pair.”

Stiles bristled at Holgrave’s idea of a joke, making light of his Noble status. He was sure that this was Deaton’s punishment for the three older Apprentices staying out the before: Stiles would have to duel Jurley for the next hour and a half before chores and his commune with nature.

“Apprentice Novak, you will assist me in setting the lines.”

For a moment, Stiles actually had the audacity to complain about Novak’s luck before realizing that they never used lines in duels before. His eyes widened as both Novak and Holgrave produced small leather pouches and began drawing straight lines across the entrance of the hall and the back where the Pulpit was located with a fine black substance. Holgrave made a sharp right turn with his line, pouring it to the wall instead of in front of the boxes. Stiles mouthed Mountain Ash as he realized that they weren’t dueling each other at all.

Holgrave then grabbed the Tarpaulin and wrenched it from what Stiles had believed to be boxes but had proven to be cages of Mountain Ash, revealing three snarling Lycans: Stiles had seen the servants in some of the higher houses, and he had seen them at the Market of the Flesh within the Market District, but he had never witnessed them transformed into their bestial forms: Scrunched brows and elongated canines with eyes that shone like the brightest of torches, that otherworldly yellow.

“First pair up, step over the line and prepare to fight. If you can subdue the Lycans then you can leave for your chores. You will be graded on the kinds of spells you use and to some amount, the creativity of these spells. And please try not to die. It makes my day go by all that much longer.” Holgrave spoke in a monotone as he motioned for Swyft and Morris to step over the line and towards the center of the room. The moment they reached the middle, Holgrave snapped his fingers. The fronts of the cages opened and the Lycans bolted out, racing straight for the pair.

To her credit, Morris did not cry as a vicious beast leapt towards her, instead raising her hands up and calling upon a ward of shielding. It worked… momentarily as the Lycan crashed into the shield before regaining its balance and swiping at Morris. Morris dodged the blow and summoned a stronger ward around her person, pushing it outwards and knocking the Lycan off balance.

Swyft was busy managing two Lycans at once: The second and third Lycans had been slightly smarter in attacking Swyft, with one moving the breadth of the room and around Swyft while the other rushed the Apprentice all together. Swyft cast a charm of Obscurement, summoning winds to stay hidden briefly from the second Lycan. Baffled, the creature stopped and sniffed at the air before making a wide swipe to its’ left, causing Swyft to cry out in pain and the claws made contact with his side.

Morris cried out as the Lycan attacking her managed a blow to her shoulder, ripping through her robes and causing a trickle of blood to seep into the material. Holgrave merely sighed and continued to mark on the paper, but made no move to intervene.

Something in Stiles boiled over at that point, for he found himself hopping over the line and into the fray. The third Lycan, about to pounce on the downed Swyft, was unceremoniously blasted forward by Stiles manipulation of energy, sending him crashing into Holgrave’s line and shocking him into submission. Putting himself between Swyft and the second Lycan, Stiles summoned a stronger ward around him and took several of the beast’s slashes before pushing him back several feet. He quickly glanced over to see Morris still holding out against the first Lycan, although barely.

“Morris, regroup!” Stiles shouted at her as pulled Swyft’s unconscious body to the center of the room. Morris used what little remained of her energy to propel the first Lycan back, sending him stumbling towards the left hand wall. Clutching her shoulder she moved next to Stiles side, tears streaming down her face. The two Lycans recovering, Stiles gathered up the _will_ dwelling deep within him and threw up his hand, conjuring a circle of Mountain Ash.

Both Lycan’s smashed into the circle, being pushed back and dazed, if momentarily. The First Lycan looked dazed, while the Third was roaring and ready to strike back.

Stiles jumped out of the circle and summoned up the _fury_ dwelling within him, his hands burning with energy and eyes brimming with light. The First Lycan dove at him, where Stiles grabbed the creature by it’s’ neck, flesh instantly sizzling and crackling at the touch. With a roar, Stiles smashed the Lycan’s head against the wall, a sickening crunch heard underneath.

A snarl resounded from behind him, Stiles whipped around to stare face to face with the final Lycan. Stiles gathered up the energy of _Calm_ from within and held his palm against the Lycan’s skull. The Lycan went slack as the energies coursed through its’ veins and its face reverted from Lycan to human. The Lycan, so fierce in stature was reduced to a peacefully sleeping girl.

Stiles turns to face still blank faced Holgrave. “I’ve never seen Lycans so incensed or powerful before. Morris should have taken down that first one with ease, but it took quite bruising wouldn’t you say Emissary?”

Holgrave’s face remains stony. “The Lycans are strong as they need to be Apprentice. We should discuss your lack of obedience first however-“

“No, I think we need to discuss why three Betas were nearly able to kill two Apprentices while their instructor stood and did nothing-“

“Those were mere Omegas Apprentice Stilinski-“

“In the Night’s Hell those were Omegas!” Stiles curses, roaring at Emissary Holgrave. Stiles remembers the Tournament hosted by the late Lord Lahey of Cold Barrow four years prior: Omegas pitted against each other couldn’t have even had a third of the strength possessed by the beasts here.

The room goes quiet as Stiles notes the difference in how the room is lighter, as though the door has been opened, and the silence of his peers and the look on Holgrave’s face as he stares at the doorway and- of course.

Stiles wheels around to see an ever stoic Deaton appraising the downed Omegas on the floor. He slowly raises his head to Stiles. “I came to ask to speak with Apprentice Stilinski in my work chambers. While I am glad to see he is getting a chance to display his finesse, I would implore you to remember that not every lesson begins in bombast Emissary Holgrave.”

“I was merely trying to educate these layabouts in the true meaning of Druidism, should they wish to leave the Guild I think that we would not be poorer for it.”

“Yes, and may I remind you that all Lycans held within the Hecatolite cells are only meant for observation and final rites of passage. Not for basic studies. You will return these creatures to the Gaol and then you will rectify your mistake by proctoring the entrance examinations within the Central Keep. Dismissed Emissary Holgrave.”

Holgrave’s eyes flicker at the tedious punishment he has been sentenced with, but he humbly bows and begins to place the Lycans within their Mountain Ash cages. Deaton turns to the Apprentices doles out commands: The Joliet twins will help take Swyft and Morris to the Healers on the lower levels; Novak and Jurley will stay and assist Holgrave with the cleanup and reassembly of the room. Stiles is told to follow Deaton. Stiles holds his hands up in placation when Novak and Jurley give him sour looks, believing Stiles to have escaped punishment.

Stiles knows that Deaton forgets nothing, and that he will be paying for the previous night with some form of punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please rate and review! ;)


	4. Kings of Argenium, 12th Edition by Emissary Tindall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Supplementary material. This should help you guys get a better sense of the timeline. I will be posting a real chapter soon, but right now my writer's block is making it a slog. So for now, more world building and a better sense of history ;P
> 
> Also a key:  
> Roman Numeral for the monarch - Their reign - Their Name - Their Birth and Death Dates - A small bio regarding their accomplishments during their respective reigns, along with titles for specific rulers i.e. The False Queen Mirelle Argent. The brackets at the end indicate when certain noble families came to power/were awarded lands and titles under specific reigns. The Primroses are the forebears of Claudia Stilinski nee Primrose.

**(I)** **(642-734) Ulwick the Cunning (642-734): Discoverer of the Vale and its’ first ruler. Founder of the House of Valewick.**

 **(II)** **(734-744) Meryn Valewick (671-744): Ulwick’s youngest son; Established the first permanent settlement of Eastermarch.**

 **(III)** **(744-751) Methis Valewick (695-751): Meryn’s oldest daughter; Decreed that the line of succession pass to the oldest child of the incumbent ruler, regardless of sex. Methis began constructing the Ulwick Span in 736.**

 **(IV)** **(751-777)Colbryn Valewick (724-777): Methis’ middle son; Was slain during the Second Lycan Rebellion.**

 **(V)** **(777-805) Medger Valewick (739-805): Colbryn’s oldest son; First stable ruler of the Vale after Ulwick. Completed construction of The Ulwick Span. Instrumental in the development of paved roads in the eastern part of the Vale.**

 **(VI)** **(805-840) Ferelia Valewick (759-840): Medger’s oldest daughter; Mother to Arianna; surveyor of the Vale and slayer of Reynard.**

 **(VII)** **(840-883) Arianna Argent nee Valewick (799-883): Ferelia’s oldest daughter and last of the Valewick clan. Arianna married Emile Argent in 824.**

 **(VIII)** **(883-904) Aurelius Argent (830-904): First of the Argent line; established the Iron crown of Argenium and founded many of the initial political and organizational changes that ushered in the Argent Dynasty.**

 **(IX)** **(904-940) Genevieve Argent (861-940): Aurelius’ oldest daughter and the first settler of Beacon Hills; Founded the city in 923.**

 **(X)** **(940-992) Alistair Argent (889-992): The Old King; Alistair oversaw the expansion of Beacon Hills and its’ first fortifications. Alistair constructed the Old House, the first living place of the Argents until the construction of Argent House. Founder of the Guild of Warriors.**

 **(XI)** **(992-1000) Anton Argent (929-1000): Moderate King who established the Guild of Masons and constructed the first set of walls around Beacon Hills.**

 **(XII)** **(1000-1020) Abilene Argent (963-1020): Established the Guild of Hunters; Founded the first Prison of Argenium: Queenston Gaol. [House Whittemore landed]**

 **(XIII)** **(1020-1041) Ordran Argent (987-1041): Founded the Guild of Merchants; Attempted to expand commerce across Argenium. Assassinated by a rival.**

 **(XIV)** **(1041-1041) Mirielle Argent (1009-1041): The False Queen; Ordran’s middle child who poisoned her older sister for the Crown. She was found guilty of Kinslaying and hanged.**

 **(XV)** **(1041-1080) Andros Argent (1015-1080): The Youngest surviving son of Ordran; Father to Aloysius. An ineffectual King, Andros took some lengths to counter Lykaon (See, The War of the White Wolf) but ended up being deposed by his son Aloysius.**

 **(XVI)** **(1080-1130) Aloysius Argent (1039-1165): The Great King; Aloysius is considered to be the greatest King of the Argent line. A brilliant general, shrewd leader and peerless soldier, Aloysius was responsible for treating with the mysterious Emissaries in order to defeat Lykaon. Aloysius also founded the great Lycan prison Lykaon, named in remembrance of the Lycans’ fallen leader. Aloysius was also instrumental in founding The Faith of the Dauntless Sun, Argenium’s chief religion. Bestowed with the grace of the Emissaries, Aloysius lived for well over a hundred years, but ceded the crown to his eldest daughter Esther in the Year 1130. [Houses Finstock and Lahey landed]**

 **(XVII)** **(1130-1180) Esther Argent (1080-1180): The Iron Queen; Esther was ceded the crown in 1130 by her venerable father. Esther was an influential and prosperous Queen, if generally disliked. Her cold demeanor and ruthless efforts earned her little love, but proceeded to turn Argenium into the powerhouse it is. Esther is responsible for the shackling of the Lycans and their forced servitude; The proper construction of the districts in Beacon Hills, including Beacon Square, The Guild Quarter, and her personal fortress The Iron Spire. It was later revealed that Esther fostered a Bastard son by an unnamed man. The scandal would prove hazardous for her reputation, but a godsend for the Argent family in the centuries to come. [Houses Primrose and Daehler landed]**

 **(XVIII)** **(1180-1207) Alphonse Argent (1143-1207): The Silver King; Esther left no next of kin when she died, leaving the crown to her next oldest nephew, Alphonse. Alphonse took the vast reserves that Esther had generated through proper finances and lavishly built a new Palace within Beacon Square. Alphonse’s greatest achievement was the construction of the upper class district of Wolfshead Heights. His last real marker was beginning construction on Argent House in the countryside. He died well before the first foundations were laid.**

 **(XIX)** **(1207-1242) Ambrose Argent (1172-1242): A notable military strategist and warrior, Ambrose saw to the construction of a proper military within the walls of Beacon Hills, along with proper walls for the city itself. Ambrose turned the gaudy folly of Argent House into a leviathan military fortress, complete with hundred foot walls and state of the art architectural fortifications. [Houses Reyes and Boyd landed]**

 **(XX)** **(1242-1260) Annalise Argent (1195-1260): An unremarkable daughter of Ambrose who is remembered more for stability than any other marker. She was also noted for her embellishment of Argent House and her induction of more culture within Beacon Hills. [House Martin landed]**

 **(XXI)** **(1260-1284) Victor Argent (1225-1284): Victor put down the Fourth Lycan Rebellion. His rule was punctuated less by Lycans than it was by the social unrest of the lower classes of his human subjects.**

 **(XXII)** **(1284-1316) Alexander Argent (1260-1316): The last of the line of Alphonse; Alexander properly handled the Hale Uprising. Alexander and his sons, Andrew and Maxwell, were slain by Prometheus in defense of Beacon Hills.**

 **(XXIII)** **(1316-Present) Victoria Argent (1293-Present): Incumbent Sovereign of Argenium; Although not formally of the line of Alphonse, Victoria is actually of the fabled line of Aloysius through his daughter Esther. Victoria’s forebears were given quaint if comfortable lodgings for their silence and lack of protestations towards the line of succession. When Alexander was killed during The Sixth Lycan Rebellion Victoria, then one of Alexander’s Lieutenants, revealed her linage and claimed both the Crown and control of the army. Brokering with the Emissaries once again, Victoria gave them a proper place within Argenium if they were to help her slay Prometheus and his Lycan horde. After the fall of Prometheus, Victoria married a distant cousin to cement the line of Argent and has ruled Argenium with a fair and stable hand. [House McCall landed]**


	5. Odd Errands

“I have an assignment for you Apprentice Genim.” 

Standing opposite to the seated Guildmaster, Genim couldn’t help but feel as though his superior had forgotten his wits. 

Stiles blinked several times. “Beg pardon Emissary Deaton?”

Deaton fixed an even gaze on Stiles. “I have an assignment for you to undertake.”

Was this Deaton’s punishment for his earlier antics? Errands?

“I do apologize profusely for my raucous behavior today-“

Deaton shakes his head in mum silence, although he looks more consternated that irritated. “Holgrave stepped over his boundaries, but that is irrelevant to the task I am laying before you. I require you to deliver two letters, in two separate stages.”

“And yes, the drinking last night at the Inn of the Triumphant Stag was a bit uncalled for, but before you interrupt me again, I need you to close your lips and listen.”

Words ripped from mind, Stiles stops his fidgeting and focuses solely on Deaton’s face. “These are confidences I require you to deliver with the utmost discretion. The first is to Lord Mayor Finstock, and the second is addressed to your Lord father.”

“ _My_ father? Why does my _father_ require a message?”

“I alone hold that in confidence Apprentice Genim. Now, will you do this for me, or will I have to send Apprentice Novak in your stead?” 

Stiles shook his head in disagreement, eager to see his father and Brightblooms once more. “I will depart at once.”

“I imagine you will have to, it _is_ Thursday after all.” Deaton offered, returning to a stack of papers on his simple writing desk.”

“Thursday… Thursday… Thurs- _Oh light be damned_.” The Lord Mayor traveled from the city to his family estate of Finkeep on Thursday and stayed until Saturday, nestled in the wooden palisades of Whistler’s Hollow which would have tacked two days of extra traveling to the small town and back towards the Ulwick Span, the only bridge spanning the whole part of the _Argenium_ river.

“Apprentice Genim, the novices have prepared a horse for you in the foreyard. Once you have delivered your father’s letter you will return here to the Guild for further instruction.

Stiles thanked the Guildmaster and raced to his quarters, tying his coin purse and several bags of Mountain Ash and other bags of assorted casting materials to his belt and hastily stuffing the two letters into a cowhide satchel his father had purchased for him before he left for his training as an Emissary.

The bag had mostly occupied space in his room for his two years at the Guild. The few times he had used it had been trips to the Market District to retrieve parchment or small items that would fit within the case. It had sat rather lonely by his writing desk due to its scant usage or need. 

Shrugging aside sentiments, Stiles closed and locked his chamber and rushed down the dormitory corridor towards a side staircase that would take him to the ground floor.

* * *

 

Stiles hurried out of the Guild Quarter altogether and into the foreyard to find his horse. The yard was empty save for a groom shoveling hay off towards a strikingly empty stable. Stiles paced towards the young man with growing disease.

“Groom, where is the Horse Guildmaster Deaton instructed you to have saddled?”

The groom looked up in surprise, eyes widening at the sight of the frantic Emissary before him. “There aren’t no more horses, the last Gelding left more than half an hour ago and I ain’t got no command from the Emissary about no horses.”

Stiles looked past the groom towards the stable, completely bereft of horses, then back to the groom. “Well, go fetch the Stablemaster then! What are you waiting for?!”

“The Stablemaster took the last Gelding your Apprenticeship.”

Stiles rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “Damn it all, I must be off!” Stiles stormed off towards the main gate, spilling onto the side road that lead out towards the Western Path that cut through the city and towards the Square. Stiles wasted no drop of time by stopping to admire the architecture during the light of day: The sheer height of the Guild which towered over the city walls, and the even taller Spire of Esther located many alleyways and blocks of houses and buildings away. 

Uptown, the ward of the working middle class of city guards, skilled craftsmen, bankers, and other families of fair means, was situated on his left, with the imposing and ornate walls of Wolfshead Heights coming up on his right hand side. Black stone walls rose over fifty feet, topped by wrought iron fencing. Bands of steels wrapped around the imposing brick pentagram, displaying scenes of human victory over the Lycans of the wars past: The First War, The Second War of Jean-Baptiste and Reynard, The Great War of Lykaon, The War of Remus and Romulus, Talia’s Rebellion, and the Promethean Invasion. The first two wars were depicted on the lowest of the three bands. The Second Band was comprised of scenes from the War of Lykaon, while the top most band of steel was etched with the names of the fallen nobility from ever encounter following the War of Lykaon.

Stiles hurried past the massive walls of the Heights and towards Beacon Square. Remembering the time of day, Stiles cursed his luck and dodged the throngs of worshippers en route to St. Aloysius’s for morning prayers. Stiles weaved throughout the masses eventually entering Beacon Square. The Argent’s court sat glimmering in the morning sun, a jeweled spectacle for any human to witness. 

Stiles moved straight past it, taking the southern road towards the Whittenden Gate. On his left lay the tranquil gardens of St. Aloysius’s Green, the campus of stone buildings belonging to the fervent Order of the Dauntless Sun.

It mattered little in the moment, for one hundred paces ahead was Lord Finstock’s escort. Stiles pushed a little harder, became a little rougher in order to reach the escort.

“Lord Finstock! LORD FINSTOCK!” Stiles shouted through the crowded street. The escort began to slow, much to the thanks of Stiles. Making his way to the dozen strong armored horse and the Lord Mayor himself, Stiles briefly thought over what kind of letter a Guildmaster would entrust to an Apprentice rather than one of the City Couriers stationed at various districts. The Guild Quarter had one for every Guild…

And yet Deaton had sent Stiles in their place. As his heartbeat and footsteps slowed, his mind began to race. He made a half turn-

“Young Master Stilinski! To what do I owe this interruption?” Finstock hailed, turning his horse to face the frozen Apprentice. 

“ _Damnation_.” Stiles swore under his breath. No turning back now…

“Lord Mayor, I have a letter from- from an old friend.” _Best to not trust the Guards, Light knows how far this reaches._ Stiles reached into his satchel and withdrew the sealed letter address to the Lord Mayor.

Finstock eyed it curiously, briskly snatched the letter and shoved it straight into the pocket of his doublet. 

“Much thanks Young Master, now get on with your tasks.” With a flick of the reins Finstock turned his steed southward and began to trot off. 

As his escort passed under the Whittenden gate, Finstock pondered the black Seal of Alan Deaton. 

_What webs are you spinning now dearest spider?_


	6. The Eastern Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World Building, with some history thrown in for fun.
> 
> Bold indicates new characters; Italics indicate internal thoughts/flashbacks/quotes in a historical context.

Having successfully delivered his letter, Stiles set to new purpose towards the Stag’s Gate. He passed through the town square, towards the Eastern Way, unhurried by the worshippers filing into the cathedral for morning prayers. He sidestepped crowds and couples with purpose, avoiding pace. He would make the trip home by nightfall crowds be damned. He predominantly passed pilgrims, soldiers and clerks moving to and fro: The ancient and tightly manicured campus of St. Aloysius’ Green; the austere and restrained Town Hall; and the squat, diligent Armory. Amidst the fervent endeavors of these public servants were groups of men and women walking with near arch purpose. Whereas the pilgrims and clerks and soldiers were currying messages, exchanging letters, transporting objects and delivering goods between their respective destinations, the nobles sauntered with aloof purpose towards their next fete. As one group strode with mad purpose in fulfilling the endless whims and tasks of their superiors, the other japed and chattered softly amongst them, lost in the easy comforts of fashionably late arrivals and “petite” appointments that often stretched over the course of whole afternoons.

Stiles darted between the two sets of courtiers, as water flows in the rivulets of stones, towards the Stag’s Gate. The Eastern Way was the main artery into Beacon Hills, a duet of lanes four carriages wide that flowed opposite each other. Dividing the two lanes were long commons of evergreen trees, flanked by wrought iron fences and lanterns. Every fifty or so paces would present a crossing into the opposite lane, allowing for travelers to alter course or pursue routes into either of the districts bordering on the Eastern Way. The northern side housed the great market district of Beacon Hills. The district was the official, sanctioned trade center within the walls of Beacon Hills, housing everything from Craftsmen’s guilds, purveyors of luxurious goods, foreign merchants and every conceivable trade imaginable.

The district also housed the Fool’s Lot, a veritable city of tents, playhouses and the Royal Amphitheatre, where court gathered to attend public spectacles. Stiles had heard of enormous concerts, tournaments with jousts and staged melees and even a naval battle staged between Whittenden and Stone Quays. Apparently Lord Whittemore’s pompous jackass of a son had managed to insult the cousin of **Lord Robert Martin** , the Lord of Stone Quays. Lord Martin, whose vanity was matched only by his wealth, challenged the Whittemores to a public duel. When **Lord Stephen Whittemore** of Whittenden haughtily encouraged the Martins to choose the field of their battle, Robert leveraged the duel into a public spectacle to be held at the Royal Amphitheatre. When Lord Whittemore and his arrogant brood arrived at the arena, they found not a pitch set for the warring teams of their respective cities, but lake filled with small galleys and sailboats. Lord Martin had paid at personal expense to convert the arena, and in doing so had practically won the match. As the seaworthy knights of Stone Quays deftly sailed, fought and swam their way around the land born knights of Whittenden, Lord Martin had to frequently excuse himself to prevent a taciturn and violently quiet Lord Whittemore from observing his palpable glee. The duel was called in favor of Stone Quays, with all twelve of the Whittenden team’s ships sunken…

_…”And more than thirty lives claimed in the melee.”_ Stiles remembered darkly. Only Fools and Kings played for honor with other men’s lives at risk. Still, Stiles had hoped he might one day glimpse at the architecture of the Amphitheatre. Emissary Holgrave’s dry lectures on the fortifications had him enraptured at the thought of viewing the site with his own eyes.

A sharp, acrid scent began to burn his nostrils. As if thinking about the Fool’s Lot had summoned the scent of arenas and human suffering, Stiles came into view of the pass into the southern side of the Eastern Way. Whereas the Market District was neat and orderly, with various lots laid out in neat square grids with proper development and growth, the South-Eastern Quarter was the equivalent of the untamed forest: A stain of human suffering, the quarter was less planned and preened as it was fenced in and corralled. Despite running the length of the Eastern Way and ending shortly before the rear of St. Aloysius’ Green and the Whitten Road, which lead southward towards Whittenden, the monstrous, sprawling area was left to its own management and devices. With towering, thick curtain walls shielding the district from the eyes of visitors, the district loomed obvious to those who passed by, but it was impolite to ask what lay within.

Stiles had passed through the walls before, on rather moonlit outings for clandestine supplies and adventures. After all, it was simultaneously the easiest district in the city to enter and the most difficult to depart. His first time, on a mission to scout out rare divination ingredients, proved harrowing. The district was built within a depression in the Beacon Hills, allowing for a person entering the large area to view down into the center of the district as if from above. Stiles had likened the view to staring into an eternal abyss.

The descending layers of patchwork houses and buildings were laid out like fungi on a rotting tree; streets and alleyways cut in every direction, and city blocks bore neither intelligent design nor cultivated care. Running through the center of the district like an angry scar was the road known as Beggar’s Row. The corruption of man’s soul was laid bare along this avenue: Stonebrow Street hosted dozens of “Gaols” operated by a shifting web of street gangs and rival sell swords. It was not uncommon for tourists in the district to be “arrested” and confined, only to be released upon payment of “bail”. Other groups dropped the pretenses and were little more than smugglers and robbers with scantily clad legitimacy. Stiles had also heard that a corner tavern called the Sullen Slut brewed some of the best barley wine in the city.

Madam’s Way, among the closest to the inner curtain wall of the major streets in the district, played host to hundreds of bordellos, tea houses, and other parlors of ill repute. Here every whim of flesh was offered, at costs both material and immaterial: well to do travelers would seek out a reservation at Madame Janine’s; laborers might find discounts at the Foreman’s Respite. The cheekily named Hills and Valleys Inn only offered services to Guild based produce merchants, while the Lavender Lounge catered to guests with more delicate purviews. Bordellos catering to patrons who wished to subjugate Lycans were not unheard of, but Stiles knew an apprentice Emissary who was punished for mentioning the existence of one where the Lycans were constantly in their full form. Stiles shuddered at the thought. The idea of even touching a Lycan was abhorrent, and he could barely consider how a man could even copulate with one, all slavering fangs and twisted features-

As he banished the thought from his mind, he remembered the lesson from earlier that day with Holgrave: The Lycans had, in normal fashion, been bound in warded crates. What was different about these crates however were the markings labeled on their fronts: A diamond inlaid into a square against a field of fire. It was the sigil for The Pits, the series of shadowy stadiums that showcased gladiatorial matches. Whereas proper matches were not intended to be deadly (Even with blunted weapons and lances, the casualty rates of the spectacles were high) The Pits openly advertised lethal matches between every matter of opponent: Men fighting other men or exotic beasts or even lycans, and every imaginable combination of team, creature, weapon or desire was displayed. The matches boasted a glorious future to urchins and the downtrodden, who had few other paths left to turn towards: In reality, only the skilled and brutal lasted long enough to earn their way out of The Pits. Those that did often left Beacon Hills all together, departing for the East or joining with the frontier settlements in the west, where scant comforts and vicious fauna proved more merciful than years with the Overseers. Those than fell in combat were taken to the tallest structure in the district: The Glorious Dead, an abattoir that masqueraded as a temple. When the wind blew towards the north, one could occasionally smell the fallen combatants piled deep within the airy workrooms of the place. While in life, the combatants had served the public’s blood lust and daily toil. In death, they served the public’s more physical needs.

Stiles remembered a quote from Emissary Tindall regarding the practices of early Valewick settlers:

_“In life they sought to sustain their families through the harsh years; in death, they sought to sustain their families through harsh seasons, if only for a few meals worth of effort. Winter deaths were preferable for preservation.”_

He adjusts his pace and heads for the Livery at the Stag’s Gate, eyes steeled ahead and not towards the avarice of men along his sides.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please rate and review!


End file.
